


[won't] let him go

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, enjolras is a bad boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grantaire isn’t flaw-free, but he is a good person,” Eponine tells Enjolras, face hard and serious. “He’s not someone you spend time with when you're free. He’s not someone you keep around to clean your house and make you meals and warm your bed. If you want him, you have to <i>earn him</i>.”</p><p>(Or, the one where Enjolras is a bad boyfriend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	[won't] let him go

In theory, it shouldn't have been a big deal. 

Enjolras misses appointments and cancels on dates all the time. His work at Senator Lamarque's political campaign doesn't really allow for his time to be solely his own, and Grantaire understands that, understands it best. He hadn't been annoyed when Enjolras couldn't make it home in time to celebrate their third anniversary, hadn’t been annoyed at the many times Enjolras forgot about date night, hadn’t even said a word about Enjolras not being able to meet his grandmother when she came over to visit.

Point is - he breaks a lot of his promises to Grantaire, and Grantaire is never upset at him.

So he knows the moment he texted Grantaire to tell him that he wouldn't be able to make it to the gallery opening that something is wrong. There's a time stamp for when Grantaire reads his message and he knows that Grantaire has seen it, but he isn't replying with his usual _don't worry abt it :) have fun making the world a better place_ or some snarky variation thereof. 

He knows it means something, but he doesn't have time to think about what it is because there's word that the newspapers tomorrow are printing an unflattering story about Senator Lamarque and a strategy meeting gets called into place. He has but a moment to spare where he thinks that it's good that he's already freed himself for the day.

—

It's 2 a.m. when Enjolras gets back to the apartment he shares with Grantaire. He's quiet about it because it's late. Grantaire is most likely to be asleep and he gets all grumpy unless he wakes up naturally.

“Hey,” Grantaire’s voice rings out in the dark, and Enjolras stubs his foot on the door, startled.

He flicks on the light switch and sees Grantaire sitting on the couch.

“Hey yourself,” he says. And then, “Why're you sitting here in the dark?” 

He belatedly remembers the text he sent Grantaire and the non-reply he'd gotten from the other man and feels a churning sensation in his stomach. It takes him awhile to recognise it as trepidation.

“I was waiting for you,” Grantaire says, and he sounds off, sounds too quiet and too calm. Grantaire is never calm. He gets overexcited when he's happy, gets loud and frazzled when he's upset, gets mouthy when he's in most of his moods, but he's never like this.

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras says, because playing the _I don’t know why you’re mad at me game_ is an insult to Grantaire and a waste of both their times. He isn't above circumnavigating the truth, though. “There was a crisis meeting and I just couldn’t—”

“You knew this was important to me,” Grantaire snaps, angry now, and this, _this_ is the Grantaire he's used to. “I told you about this months ago, and you said you would be there.”

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras says again, and he means it.

Grantaire is angry now, rightfully so. “You want to work 13, 14 hours a day? I tell you to go for it because you like what you do and I like it when you’re happy. You miss dinners and anniversaries and cancel vacations? I’m okay with that too, because I know that your work is important, and I like that you’re trying so hard to make change. But just once in a while, Enjolras, just _once in a-fucking-while_ , can you please show up?” 

His fingers are tapping against his thigh, fast and unrhythmic, a sign that he wants a drink, and Enjolras feels his heart clench tightly, because he hasn’t seen Grantaire do that since he quit drinking a year ago. 

He takes a cautious step towards Grantaire.

“Don’t,” Grantaire says and he sounds off, sounds wrong, doesn't even sound upset anymore, just sad. “Just don’t.”

“Grantaire…”

“I can't do this anymore,” Grantaire says before Enjolras can say anything else. His words, softly spoken, are like a slap to Enjolras' face. “I thought I could do this. I thought that I could love you on my own and it’d be enough to keep our relationship going. I thought I could, but I need you to be there sometimes, Apollo. I can't do this alone."

Enjolras cannot move, he can’t even breathe. “R, don't, please.” He's still reeling from Grantaire's words, still ungrounded by the reality of the whole thing.

“I needed you to show up for one thing,” Grantaire says, voice breaking. “I needed you to make time for _one thing_.”

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras says, again, but he knows it won’t matter if he says it a thousand times more because it won't help. He makes a living telling Senator Lamarque how words without action ring false to the public. He’s brilliant at his job, but he’s not good at this, he's never been good at it, but it's literally the only thing he can think of to say right now. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not,” Grantaire says, and the sad, bitter laugh that comes out from him makes Enjolras’ eyes sting. “You're never sorry, not enough to not do it again, at least.” Grantaire rubs his hand across his face. He looks tired. “I know I'm not a perfect guy, I could write a whole book on my own issues, but I don't- I don't think this is what I deserve. I should be someone's first priority, and if I can't get that from you, maybe I'm wasting our time looking in the wrong direction."

And- Jesus Christ. 

“You're not—” He's not just a hobby Enjolras indulges in when he's free. Grantaire knows that, Grantaire must know that, but he doesn’t, because that's what Enjolras has been making him feel like, and he suddenly feels wretched, feels sick at himself for making Grantaire feel like this. “You're important to me,” he says, because he's never learnt how to say _I love you_.

Grantaire stares at him for a long moment. “Am I?”

Enjolras doesn't have an answer that he can substantiate with facts at the top of his head, but it doesn't mean it isn't true. He makes to move to Grantaire, and this time Grantaire doesn't stop him. He's made his way around the couch by the time he sees the duffel bags on the floor.

He draws in a sharp breath.

“I packed a few things,” Grantaire says, in that same sad voice he's been using for the better part of the night. “It's mostly just clothes and some books. I'll come back for the rest of the art supplies some other time.”

“You're leaving,” Enjolras says dumbly. “Grantaire, please—”

“Please don't ask me to stay,” Grantaire says, mouth pinched. “Because if you ask me, I will, and it's not fair to me, you know it's not fair to me.”

It's not fair to Grantaire. It won't be fair to Grantaire. Enjolras hasn't been fair to Grantaire. Christ.

“Don't go,” Enjolras blurts out, and hears Grantaire sigh, sees the look in his eyes. “I'll leave. We got the apartment together, it's as much mine as it is yours. You shouldn't have to leave just because—” He cannot finish his sentence, can’t decide if _I’m an idiot_ or _I don’t deserve you_ fits better.

Grantaire is staring at him when he finally looks up from the spot he's been staring at on the floor. 

“Okay,” Grantaire says finally.

“Okay,” Enjolras echoes, even though it's not.

—

“He's leaving,” Enjolras chokes out when Courfeyrac tells him that he looks horrible and teases him for staying back through the night at the office again. “I went home and he packed a bag, and God, Courf, he's leaving me.”

Courfeyrac frowns. “Grantaire? Grantaire wouldn't leave you.”

Something in Enjolras’ chest tightens up because Courfeyrac is right, Grantaire wouldn’t leave him, not unless he’s really unhappy, and God, Enjolras made him unhappy, he never meant to make Grantaire unhappy, and now Grantaire is leaving him—

“ _Enjolras_ ,” Courfeyrac says, alarmed, and that’s when Enjolras realises that he’s begun to shake a little. 

“I didn’t— The gallery opening was yesterday,” Enjolras says quietly and watches as Courfeyrac's eyes widen in understanding. “I knew he would need someone with him, I know what he's like when he gets nervous, but there was so much work and I figured he would just call Eponine and— I didn't think.”

Courfeyrac's lips are pinched in a tight frown when Enjolras looks back up at him. “You promised you would go,” he says, and Enjolras wants to snap at him, tell him that he knows what he promised, that he isn't helping right now but Courfeyrac continues. “Have you seen the pieces he has on display?”

Enjolras blinks. “No,” he says. He hadn't realised that anyone had seen it. Grantaire hadn't asked him to look at it. He'd asked, once, when Grantaire first started painting the set and had been excited, eyes shining every time he came back from the studio, and Grantaire told him that he could see it when it's on display.

Courfeyrac nods. “You should go and look. Then maybe you'll understand why it had to be you there with him yesterday night.”

—

Enjolras goes to the gallery, like Courfeyrac suggested, because Courfeyrac is good at things like feelings and emotions, and he has never steered him wrong. 

His knees don’t buckle when he sees the painting Grantaire has on exhibition, but just barely. There are seven paintings, and Enjolras is on every single canvas, smiling gently, head thrown back in a laugh, dozing off on the couch. 

Grantaire hadn’t asked Enjolras to model for him, but if he had, Enjolras would’ve probably found a way out of it. He hasn’t modelled for Grantaire since university, hasn’t had the time to do it for him even though back in the day he used to let Grantaire sketch him all the time as practise. 

Grantaire must have painted all of these from memory.

He can hear someone off to the side raving about how the pieces are the artist’s love song to his muse, and how you can see the love in every single brushstroke, in the careful way the artist frames the man in the painting. They’re right; Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s love for him seep from the canvases and straight into him. It makes his heart ache, because this isn’t right, he shouldn’t be looking at them alone, _Grantaire_ shouldn’t have had to showcase these paintings alone.

 _You'll understand why it had to be you there with him yesterday night_ , Courfeyrac had said, and he was right, Enjolras understands now, and he knows he has to fix this now because even just thinking about a life without Grantaire makes his chest hurt and his palms sweat. 

—

Grantaire isn’t at home when Enjolras gets back. Enjolras checks for the duffel bags that he’d seen with Grantaire last night, and feels a pang of sadness in his heart to realise that they’re gone. 

Grantaire hadn’t stayed, had left anyway, because he didn’t feel happy in their apartment.

Enjolras takes a few minutes to draw in deep, calming breathes, and that does the trick to stave the panic away temporarily. 

He needs to find Grantaire, he needs to fix this.

—

Eponine groans when she sees Enjolras on her doorstep when she gets home. 

“You really shouldn’t be here,” she tells him, feeling through her bag for her keys. “I have the strongest urge to punch you in the face right now and you being here, right in front of me, is doing nothing to help that urge.”

“You could,” Enjolras says, and swallows. “You could punch me in the face. I would deserve it.”

“You would, but I _can’t_ ,” Eponine bites out and then lets out a huff when she finally fishes her keys out of her bag and fits them into the lock on the door. “Because I made a promise to R that I wouldn’t punch you in the face and unlike you, I keep my promises to R.” 

“I—”

Eponine scowls at him. “Unless the sentence you're trying to form is _I have been an asshole to Grantaire and I don't deserve him_ , please don't say anything.” 

Enjolras feels his eyes prickle. “I didn't know he felt—”

“—like he wasn't important to you?” Eponine finishes. “Like you didn't love him as much as you love your job? Like you didn't think the art gallery opening was important enough to show up to?” She snorts. “Guess you are dumber than we thought.”

“I didn't mean to hurt him,” Enjolras says quietly. “He's important to me. I thought he knew. I didn't- I just want to talk to him. I want to make things right.”

“No,” Eponine says, sounding bitter and angry. “All you want is Grantaire back, even if you know that it's going to hurt him in the long run, that _you’re_ going to hurt him.”

“It's not,” Enjolras says fiercely. “I won’t.”

“Grantaire isn’t flaw-free, but he is a good person,” Eponine tells him, face hard and serious. “He’s not someone you spend time with when you're free. He’s not someone you keep around to clean your house and make you meals and warm your bed. If you want him, you have to earn him.” 

She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just stares at Enjolras. “He deserves more. He doesn't think he does, but he deserves more.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “I won’t— I know I haven't been there for him, but I'll change. I'm going to change. I just—” His voice cracks. “I just need a chance to say I'm sorry and to show him he's important to me.”

Eponine is quiet.

“Please,” Enjolras says.

“He's with Jehan,” she says finally. “Don't make me regret telling you.”

—

Jehan squeaks when he opens the door to see Enjolras. 

“Enjolras, what are you—”

“I need to talk to him, Jehan,” Enjolras tells Jehan.

“Talk to who?” Jehan asks, and blinks at Enjolras. The tip of Jehan’s ears go red. He’s never liked or been particularly good at lying, but he’s been known to persevere. “Feuilly? He’s got a new shift at work, he’ll be back in a few hours. I feel like stretching my legs. Do you want to take a walk with me? We can go get something to eat. I’m starving, are you hungry?”

“Jehan,” Enjolras sighs. “I know Grantaire is here. I really need to talk to him, please. I want to fix this.”

Jehan looks torn. “You made him so sad, Enjolras. He hasn’t been so sad in such a long time.”

Enjolras wants to cry. He wants to rewind time and take them back to the time when he used to be a good boyfriend who took time out to go on evening walks with Grantaire, who used to plan surprise dates for him, who could be found together with Grantaire more often than not. He hates that he’s been neglecting Grantaire and hurting his feelings.

“You don’t look so good yourself too,” Jehan says gently. 

“I’ve been horrible to him,” Enjolras whispers. “I just want to apologise, please.”

Jehan steps aside to let Enjolras in. “I’ll go take a walk,” he tells Enjolras. “Please be gentle with him? He’s not at his best. Please don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras says. “I won’t, I promise.”

Jehan nods and closes the door after him. 

Enjolras heads straight for the guest room. Bossuet used to stay in there until he moved in with Joly and Musichetta. The last Enjolras heard, which mightn’t even be accurate news anymore seeing as how he hasn’t spent much time with his friends lately, Bahorel was talking about moving in.

He knock on the door tentatively and waits. 

When Grantaire opens the door and sees Enjolras, his eyes go wide and he makes a move to shut the door on him. Enjolras jams his feet against the door.

“Please,” he says, _begs_. “Please don’t make me leave, please just listen to me for a minute, _please_.”

The fight goes out of Grantaire and he pulls away from the door, moving to stand by the window, putting as much distance between them as is possible in the small room. Enjolras doesn’t push it, just stands by the door. Jehan said to be gentle with Grantaire, to not push him beyond his limits, and Enjolras can do that, he can.

He’s had a whole speech written out in his head in the time it took for him to travel from the art gallery to Jehan’s apartment at the other side of town, but now that he’s here, now that he’s actually looking at Grantaire, at the way he’s hunched into himself, at the way he’s wrapped his arms around himself as if to protect himself from Enjolras, at the way he won’t meet his eyes, Enjolras finds himself at a loss of words. 

“I went to the gallery,” he settles on saying at last. 

Grantaire’s eyes dart to his for a moment, surprised even though he probably shouldn’t be, before he looks away. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, and it’s like the words break a dam in him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there like I should’ve been, I shouldn’t have missed that for anything in the world, God, R, the paintings were so beautiful. I was in the gallery for hours just looking at them, and I— I get the message behind the paintings, I do, Christ, I would have to be an idiot not to. You were yelling your love for me in your art and I wasn’t there to see it, and I’m sorry, I’m just so _sorry_ , and I know you deserve a lot more than just listening to me saying that I’m sorry, and I swear I had something better planned, I _did_ , but then I came and you were there and I couldn’t think properly anymore because the only thing that was running through my head was how much I love you.” 

Grantaire is still quiet, still standing by the window sill and not looking at Enjolras, and Enjolras doesn’t know what to do, so he just keeps on talking, because it’s easier to talk than to analyse what the silence means for him, for _them_.

“I love you, R,” he says, and now that he’s said the words out loud, he finds it easier to repeat them. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry I’ve been hurting you and making you feel that you’re not important, but God, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry I haven’t been doing a good job of showing you that. I’m an idiot, and you’re right, you _do_ deserve better, but I love you, _I love you_ , and I can be better, just let me try, please, just—”

Stay.

 _Stay with me_.

The words catch in Enjolras’ throat, and he has to ball his fists to keep himself in check because Grantaire asked him not to ask him to stay, and Enjolras should listen, Enjolras should always listen, but he’s selfish and he wants Grantaire back, wants him to never leave. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he tells Grantaire, voice thick with emotion, and crosses the room to stand in front of Grantaire, “but I want to be someone who does.”

The silence drags on, and Enjolras feels his chest tighten with every second that passes with Grantaire not saying anything. His first instinct is to make Grantaire talk, because that’s how they sort out all their problems - they’re good at talking, and it’s likely that they’ll work it out with raised voices and tears, but. 

_Be gentle_ , Jehan had said. 

_If you want him, you have to earn him_ , Eponine had said.

Enjolras takes a step back from Grantaire, and then a few more, until his back hits the door. “You don’t have to talk to me right now,” he tells Grantaire, and swallows past the lump in his throat. “You should take some time to think about things. I’ll— I’ll be around.”

Grantaire remains quiet still, and Enjolras reaches for the doorknob.

“I love you, R,” Enjolras says softly, and then slips out of the room.

He has things to sort out. He needs to go back to the office, and tell Senator Lamarque that he needs to take a few weeks off (Courfeyrac would understand having to take on extra responsibilities, he would), and then he has to go make a plan to win him his boyfriend back. 

He also needs to stop and remember how to breathe without everything hurting, but that’s secondary to everything else right now.

He’s just about crossed the living room on his way to the front door when the door to the guest room opens and Grantaire calls out, “Enjolras.”

Enjolras’ heart is in his throat when he turns around to face Grantaire. 

“You can’t—” Grantaire starts, and then makes a noise of frustration. Enjolras’ heart does a funny flip at that, because Grantaire does that when he has too many thoughts in his head that he think words are inadequate for, and Enjolras loves it when he does that. 

“You can’t do this to me again,” Grantaire settles on saying, and the _if I stay_ rings in Enjolras’ head even though Grantaire doesn’t say it. “You can’t break my heart again, Enjolras, I swear I won’t be able to do this twice.”

Enjolras is across the room in a flash, and takes Grantaire’s hand in his. “I won’t,” he says, _swears_. “I promise I won’t. God, R, I love you so much.”

Grantaire’s only reply is to wrap his arms around Enjolras waist and press his face into Enjolras’ neck, breathing him in deeply. 

—

They end up back in the gallery, Enjolras’ chin hooked over Grantaire’s shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around Grantaire, standing in front of one of Grantaire’s exhibited paintings of Enjolras. In this one, Enjolras has his head thrown back, mouth open in a laugh, crinkles around his eyes obvious. 

“This one is my favourite,” Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras can hear the smile in his voice. “Do you remember how during Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s wedding, Courfeyrac insisted Marius gave a speech? That’s when this happened.”

Enjolras remembers. Marius had been talking about how he hoped that Combeferre and Courfeyrac burst like the music of angels and the light of the sun in each other’s lives, and Grantaire had laughed so hard at the way Montparnasse and Eponine scrunched their noses in distaste and mimed gagging that he almost cried. Marius wasn’t what put that look on his face, _Grantaire_ was.

“I look demented,” Enjolras says, which isn’t true, but the comment manages to coax a laugh out from Grantaire, so Enjolras considers that a win. 

“You look happy,” Grantaire corrects, twisting around to press a kiss to his jaw. “You should always look like that. We should have Marius over for dinner to talk to you every night just to make you laugh.”

“I don’t need Marius to be happy,” Enjolras tells him, grinning, “I just need you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, come say hi! :)


End file.
